Olive stood up. “If you don’t mind, Elsie, I’ll be off now. I baked a fruit cake this morning and promised I’d take some up to Millie. Abe loves a bit of my fruitcake, he does.”
“Thanks again for lunch,” Elsie said. “That’s one more I owe you when I can get up and about more.”
“Bless you, dearie, that’s what neighbours are for,” Olive said. “Friends and neighbours should be there for one another, you know.”
I thought for a moment she was going to start singing the theme tune to an Australian soap.
“Very kind of you,” Elsie said gruffly then turned to me. “Olive brought me lunch, you see.”
“Well, everybody loves a roast on a Sunday, don’t they?” Olive said. “I’m cooking for myself. No trouble to dish up some extra for you. And it’s company for me.”
“So it was just the two of you for lunch, was it?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t want to come out and say I’d seen Danny. Just in case he’d only come to the village to check out his grandmother’s plot of land and hadn’t bothered to come in and see her.
“No,” Elsie said. “George Clooney popped in. And that nice Hugh Grant. We had quite a party, Olive, didn’t we?”
“Did we?” Olive looked confused. She didn’t do sarcasm. Or get it when someone else did. “Oh no, dear, it was just the two of us.”
That answered that question then. And Danny went even further up the league table of men I didn’t like. So he had, indeed, come to the village just to check out the plot of land. He’d been within a two-minute walk of his grandmother’s house and hadn’t bothered to call in on her.
What a lowlife. Suddenly, he was right up there, competing with Ratface for top spot.
***
I left Elsie’s the same time as Olive.
“Do you have any idea where Margot and her husband lived before they came to Much Winchmoor?” I asked her as we walked down Elsie’s path together.
She paused outside her front gate. “No, dear. I’m afraid I don’t. She may well have said, but I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it was. My daughter’s always telling me my memory’s like a…” she frowned. “A colander? Or something like that. Is it important?”
“I’m doing this piece for The Chronicle,” I explained. “Just a bit of general background stuff about Margot.”
“For The Chronicle, eh?” She couldn’t have looked more impressed if I’d said The Sunday Times. “You always were a clever girl. I said you’d go far.”
Go far? Yeah, right. I’d gone as far as Bristol, only to come back with my tail between my legs when the money ran out. Oh yes, I’d gone far, right enough. All the way there and back again. But it was sweet of Olive to say so.
“Thanks,” I said. “But the problem is, I’m not doing very well. No one in the village seems to know anything about Margot’s background.”
She pushed open her gate. “Our Julie might be able to help you. After all, she worked for them for… oh, I don’t know. Several months, I’m pretty sure. Have you asked her?”
I thought about the last time Jules and I met – and how we’d parted. I was probably the last person she’d want to see. She’d made that pretty clear.
“She’s busy,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to bother her.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not a bother. And she was only saying to me the other day how she misses you.”
I imagine that was before our little falling out outside the village hall the other day.
“Why don’t you call in and see her?” Olive went on. “I happen to know her Eddie is off working today. He’s managed to get himself some casual work over Glastonbury way. Or was it Gloucester? Somewhere beginning with a G anyway. And, as you know, they need all the money they can get now they’ve got another little mouth to feed. So she’ll be on her own with the kiddies and glad of the company, I’m sure.”
I wished I shared Olive’s optimism on that score. But she was quite right. Jules could well be able to fill in some of the gaps for me.
Jules and Eddy lived in the cluster of new houses over the other side of the village. It was yet another of those executive-style family home developments, which is property developer speak for ‘let’s see if we can beat our own record for the greatest number of houses squeezed into the smallest possible piece of land.’
I thought about texting her first. But it took me so long to work out what to say that I decided, in the end, it would be quicker to walk over there and just wing it. I’d know by the look on her face if I was welcome or not.
“Katie!” She squealed with delight the second she opened the door. “OMG, I was just texting you. You look frozen. Come on in. Kylie’s just finishing her lunch. Have you eaten?”
Kylie was slurping her way through spaghetti hoops with a fried egg on top. My favourite comfort meal ever, after chocolate Hobnobs. But what I needed to say couldn’t be said with a mouthful of spaghetti hoops.
“Sit down.” Jules pulled out a chair, moved a pair of fairy wings on to the draining board and gestured to me to sit. “Tea? Coffee? Vodka?”
I shook my head and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry…” We both said the words at the same time.
“No, let me,” Jules said. “I need to say this before we go any further. Katie—”
“Kat.” I couldn’t help myself.
She sighed. “Sorry, Kat. I’m sorry about the other day. I was way out of order.”
“No. I’m sorry. What you said was right. I was acting like a…” I looked across at Kylie, who beamed at me, with her orange spaghetti moustache and beard, and changed what I’d been going to say to: “Like a complete idiot.”
“Even so,” Jules said, when I’d been hoping she’d contradict me. “I was wrong to say what I did. I was tired and cranky, haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for months. But that’s no excuse. What goes on between you and Will is none of my business.”
I thought of Little Miss Perfect Anna and considered telling Jules that, as things stood between me and Will, what he got up to and with whom was none of my business either.
“Forget it,” I said. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about Will. But Margot.”
She frowned and glanced towards Kylie. I got the message.
“Nothing like that,” I said quickly. “I’m just trying to put together a background piece on her. For The Chronicle. Trouble is, no one, not even Elsie Flintlock, seems to know anything about her before she came here. Your gran thought that maybe you might.”
I thought back to the way she’d gone all starchy on me when I’d asked her about Margot before, and hurried on. “Look, it’s ok. I know you don’t want to talk about your employers. I get that. I don’t want to quote you or use your name. I just wondered if she ever told you where she lived before they came to Much Winchmoor, to give me something to work from?”
Jules shook her head. “Afraid not. She wasn’t much for talking, except telling me I hadn’t dusted the Dresden china to her high standard, things like that.” She looked across at her daughter. “Have you finished, Kylie? Good girl, come here and let me wipe your face. Then you can go and watch Peppa Pig. Don’t have it on too loud though, sweet pea. We don’t want to wake your brother, do we?”
She wiped the little girl’s face and I tried not to look too longingly at the leftover spaghetti hoops on her plate, as I realised that I hadn’t even had time for breakfast that morning, let alone lunch.
“Sure you won’t have that cup of tea?” she asked. She always did have an uncanny knack of reading my mind. “I’ve got a packet of chocolate Hobnobs with your name on.”
I laughed. “You remembered my weakness for them, then?”
She gave me a long straight look. “I remember all your weaknesses, girl!”
Then we both burst into gales of laughter and, as we did so, the years fell away. And with them, the awkwardness between us. I took the tea – and two chocolate Hobnobs – and felt much, much better. There are few t
hings in life that don’t feel better after a chocolate biscuit or two. Mum seemed to have stopped buying them since Tanya had finished off the packet on her first day with us, and I’d been getting serious withdrawal symptoms.
“Sorry I can’t be any more help,” Jules went on through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs. “She didn’t seem to have any friends, unless you count Gruesome Gerald. I never saw anyone else visit. But I used to hear her on the phone to her husband sometimes, when he was away. Always full of plans.” She sighed. “Such a pity, isn’t it?”
“What sort of plans, did she say?”
Jules shook her head. “It was usually about her holiday lets. She was quite single-minded when it came to them. Probably had ideas for buying up even more. At the rate they were snapping up village properties, the only ones left not part of the Winchmoor Estate, as she insisted on calling it, would be these houses and the old folks’ bungalows.”
“Did you know my aunt Tanya is hoping to buy The Old Forge?”
“The blonde stick insect?” She pulled a face. “Why? I wouldn’t have thought Much Winchmoor was her scene. Unless she’s buying it as a holiday let.”
I shrugged. “Who knows?” I thought about telling her what Elsie had told me about Mum and Uncle Richard. But decided against it. “Well, thanks for the tea and biscuits. They were a life saver. And I promise I won’t write anything that will make life awkward for you.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’re not my employers any more. Mr D-T phoned me this morning to say he’s leaving the village. Selling the house, the cottages, everything. So there goes my job. Give him his due, he’s given me a very generous pay off. But even so…”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Hardly. We’re not exactly on those sort of terms.”
“But what about the funeral?”
“I asked him about that. Said I wanted to know, so I could pay my respects. He said the police haven’t released the body yet.”
I shivered as if the cold March wind that had been blowing so hard up on Pendle Hill had suddenly made its way into Jules’ tiny, overheated kitchen. But before I could say think of anything suitable to say, a loud wail came from upstairs. Jules sighed and stood up.
“That’s my five minutes over and done with,” she said with weary resignation. “I’ll just go and get him. Sounds like he needs a nappy change. I don’t suppose you’d mind?”
The swoosh of panic I felt in the pit of my stomach must have shown. Jules gave a sudden hoot of laughter.
“Your face! Talk about panic. Don’t worry, I’m only teasing. Unless, of course…” she added, raising her voice to make herself heard above the noise that would soon be bringing the ceiling down. “Unless you insist on doing it.”
“I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.” I tried not to look too eager as I made my way to the door. “I’ve got loads to do this afternoon.”
Chapter Thirteen
The village was deserted as I walked back along the High Street. Most of the cottages had been turned into holiday homes and it was still too early in the year for visitors to start arriving. As for the few that weren’t holiday lets, there was no sign of life in them either. The days when villagers stood out on the street chatting away to their neighbours were long gone.
Now, if they were at home, they’d be more likely to be chatting to their ‘friends’ on the other side of the world, via social media.
And, while the cluster of bungalows where Elsie lived might not be as chocolate-box pretty as the ones on the High Street, I reflected, at least Crabshaw Crescent showed signs of real life and didn’t resemble an abandoned film set.
Always assuming, of course, that real life was how you’d describe the sound of Elsie yelling at Prescott, the sight of Olive’s smalls waving about on her washing line or the smell of Creepy Dave frying onions again.
As I walked on, a car drove by and the driver tooted at me. It was Stuart Davies, the chairman of Much Winchmoor parish council. He’d always been very good to me, welcomed me to the council meetings and made a point of ensuring I had all the information I needed. He’d be a good person to talk to for my piece on Margot and I made a mental note to call him when I got back home.
As I walked past the pub, Big Shane Freeman was ambling across the car park to his scooter.
“Katie.” His booming voice echoed down the quiet street. “Thought you’d like to know your aunt’s come back. She’s in the bar now, if you want to see her. Looks like she’s settled in for the afternoon. I’ve left her putting the world to rights with Mary.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already seen her.”
He beckoned me towards him. “You should have been here half an hour ago,” he went on, lowering his voice by only a fraction. “She and her old man put on quite a floor show. Least I assumed he was her husband. Only a married couple could go at each other the way they did. More hammer and tongs than a B&Q stock take.”
He paused to allow me time to laugh at his witticism. I forced a smile.
“At one point I thought I was going to have to throw them both out,” he went on. “Disturbing the peace, and on a Sunday, too.”
I groaned. “Is Uncle Richard still in there? Or my dad?”
Shane shook his head. “Haven’t seen your dad since yesterday lunchtime. But you’ve just missed the other guy. He stormed off about ten minutes ago, face like thunder. Your aunt just sat there, looking like the cat who’d got the cream, then calmly ordered a double gin and tonic. Knocked it back in one, she did.”
‘Well, let’s hope she’ll spend the rest of the afternoon sleeping it off,” I said and added silently, “She’s caused more than enough damage for one day.”
Only she didn’t sleep it off because the next moment, the pub door opened and Tanya came out, phone clapped to her ear, killer heels tapping an urgent rhythm as she crossed the car park. She was nodding and listening and gave no indication that she’d seen either Shane or me.
But whoever she was talking to, it couldn’t have been Uncle Richard because she wasn’t angry. Instead she looked as happy and excited as a teenager on a first date.
Could it be she was going to meet the man she’d been having an affair with? It certainly looked like it from the way she was laughing and tossing her hair as she ended the call.
The next thing, she got in her car and drove off. For a moment I had a horrible feeling she was heading for our house, but to my relief, she turned at the end of the High Street and roared off down the road that led out of the village.
“You on your way home, then?” Shane asked.
“Yeah.” Although Jules’ biscuits had filled a small hole in my stomach, I needed something else to eat.
“I’m going fishing this afternoon on Cheddar reservoir,” Shane said. “You’re welcome to come along. If you promise not to talk too much and scare the fish off. And, of course, you’ll have to ride pillion and hang on to my fishing gear.”
“Ride pillion?” I looked down at Shane’s scooter which seemed to get smaller the closer he got to it. “There isn’t room for you on that thing, least of all a pillion passenger.”
He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Then you’ll have to snuggle up extra close, won’t you?”
And, do you know, for one crazy minute I was almost tempted. Not the snuggling up, of course. God forbid. Nor the fishing, which I find about as exciting as watching paint dry. And, while Shane was ok in small doses, he was the only person in the entire universe who thought his one-liners were funny.
But that’s what a dreary Sunday afternoon in Much Winchmoor can do for you. Especially when your home has suddenly turned into a battleground.
I missed Will more than I’d have thought possible, and really wished we could turn the clock back to the days when we were still good mates. Before things got all awkward and weird between us.
And before there were any pretty blonde vets on the scene.
I could have told Will what Elsie had said about Mum and Uncle
Richard, and he’d have told me it was in the past and none of my business. I could also have told him about Tanya’s crazy plans and he’d have told me I was worrying over nothing. Then told me it was none of my business. And that I’d been spending too much time with Elsie Flintlock.
But I wouldn’t have told him how I was struggling with what I thought was my big chance to impress my new editor, with my perceptive yet sensitive piece on Margot D-T. He’d have probably said that was none of my business either.
I could always rely on Will to put things into perspective – and to tell me to mind my own business.
I gave Shane a wry smile, thanked him for the offer and set off to spend the rest of the afternoon wrangling my laptop, trying to find something to write about Margot that wouldn’t sound as if I had just made it all up.
Thank goodness for Stuart Davies. He, at least, should be good for a quote.
***
As I reached our garden gate I saw what looked like a rhubarb tree staggering down the road towards me. I peered through the foliage and saw Dad, obviously on his way back from the allotment.
“Blimey, Dad, are you going for rhubarb world domination by buying up the entire crop?” I asked.
He attempted a smile that didn’t quite make it. “It’s all that rain and the bit of sunshine we had last week,” he said. “It’s brought it all on like crazy.”
I groaned at the thought of all the tongue-shrivelling rhubarb crumbles we had to look forward to. Mum didn’t believe in adding sugar.
Dad must have had the same thought because he went on, “Mary in the pub gave me this recipe for rhubarb vodka. I thought I’d give that a try before your mother gets her hands on it. Otherwise it will be a freezer full of crumbles again. I don’t think I can face any more of that rhubarb and elderflower she made last year. As for the rhubarb and ginseng—”
“Dad,” I put my hand on his arm. “Before you go in, don’t you think this nonsense between you and mum has gone on long enough?”
He sighed, pushed away his non-existent hair with his free hand then turned towards me, his face puckered with worry. “You’re right, pet. Of course you are. I’ve been up the allotment, hoeing the onion patch and that always clears my head. And I can see why your mother was a bit upset yesterday. It must have looked a bit suspicious. But it was all totally innocent, I promise you. I’ve never so much as looked at another woman since I met your mother. And never will. I knew she was the girl for me the first time I saw her.”
Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2) Page 13
